


Find That Handsome Devil

by Anonymous



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-03
Updated: 2008-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could freak out later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find That Handsome Devil

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a present for [Melle](http://melle.livejournal.com). Then I made her beta it. I don't know if it counts as a present anymore, after I made her go through an embarrassing number of revisions, but she claims she liked it. Which is all I wanted anyway.

It's late and they're tired; too tired to sleep, like Jared remembers from when his little sister was _really_ little. Too tired to censor themselves, and definitely too tired to take a swing at a guy, so when Jensen tilts over and kisses him, wet and soft and needy, Jared just goes with it, and kisses back. He can freak out later.

He would in the morning, too, if he weren't busy being embarrassed that he fell asleep while Jen was licking his collarbone. Who the hell falls asleep in the middle of a makeout session? And he actually slept really well, and Jensen doesn't seem to care; hell, Jared's beginning to wonder if it happened at all.

So it's just that he feels better about his sanity and recall when Jensen pulls him into a full-body hug, which is normal, and presses his groin against Jared's thigh, which is not. You can't feel relieved and freaked out all at once, and Jared goes for relief. There's still plenty of time to freak out later.

But it's impolite to spaz on a guy when he's sucking your nipples, and so Jared just goes with it again that night, arches up into the tug of Jensen's mouth and the careless swipe of his tongue and the really, really shockingly good nips of his teeth. He comes embarrassingly fast, and Jensen looks so pleased with himself, the jackass, that Jared decides, hazily, that all the energy he has left should be devoted to the task of slinging an arm around the back of Jensen's neck and dragging him into a sloppy kiss. He doesn't have the concentration for finesse, and settles for licking and sucking the smugness off Jensen's mouth.

There is just _no way_ that he can muster up the concentration for a really good freakout, and Jensen's the kind of guy who deserves the first-class kind. So he puts it on his to-do list—a mental to-do list, because he would never live it down if someone (*cough*Alona*cough*) found out he was the kind of _girl_ who keeps to-do lists—and sucks on Jensen's tongue for another few seconds, and dozes off.

The freakout keeps getting pushed down the to-do list, even as he checks shit off, because he can't memorize lines if he's freaking out, and freaking out while ordering from Taco Bell is a good way to get your order completely fucked up, and there is just no way a journalist will be okay with him freaking out during the interview. It's not that he doesn't think he's entitled to it, or that he thinks he would be able to do it, but he's a busy guy. When he does have spare time, he'd rather just kick back with Jensen, have some beer and sushi, refine his blowjob technique, whatever. The freakout's not going anywhere.

Except suddenly they're on hiatus, and Jensen's shit is all over his apartment, and he knows Jensen buys the kind of grapefruit juice Jared likes, and maybe he really can't freak out any more.

He feels cheated for a moment—what, a guy procrastinates for a while and suddenly he's not allowed to have a good old-fashioned manly panic attack?—and then he thinks that maybe freakouts are overrated. Maybe he should just go with it, go find Jensen on the couch and get Jensen to fuck him, because really, when it comes down to it? Given the choice of Jensen's fingers and tongue and cock in his ass or freaking out, he's going to go with the sex. Dude, he's a guy. And he can't really remember when the noogies and the shoulder punches and the stupid nicknames turned into practiced groping and between-shots neck massages and filthy voicemails, and he doesn't even care.

Fuck it. Whatever the hell is going on here, and let's face it, something is, it's nothing to freak out about. It's Jensen, and Jared, and Jared-and-Jensen, and why the hell would he want to freak out about that?

So he goes and sits on Jensen's thighs and squirms a little, and when Jensen inhales, he grins. Jensen's icy fingers work their way into his jeans and into his boxers, and what the hell is he wearing boxers for anyway?

He smiles, not even minding the freezing-cold fingers, because Jensen's palming his cock roughly, and pushing his hand further down to brush his knuckles against Jared's balls. He swallows back a moan, but any hopes of concealing what he's thinking and wanting are _gone_ when Jen wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him solidly against Jensen's body. He can feel Jensen plastered against every inch of him, holding him up and holding him tight, and he's not really fighting it, no matter how much he's moving. He can't _not_ move, he can't not grind his ass back against Jensen's cock, he can't not tilt his hips into Jensen's grip, he can't not fly apart when Jensen's teeth close on the back of his neck.

When the relevant bits of himself have been put back in place, he sighs, long and slow, and looks at Jensen. Jensen's a little flushed, his hair a little matted on one side, and he has a lapful of post-coital (post-handjob) Jared, with all the attendant stickness and pointy elbows. He looks happy. He looks _beautiful_.

Not that Jared's about to say that.

Nope.

He just kisses Jensen once, and lets Jensen rub off against his thigh and hip, and drags him into the shower because _yuck_.

Hiatus is nothing like real life; he knows this already, but it's a point driven home over the next few weeks. Real life has obligations and schedules and family and all that shit. But somehow, they fill the days, with cereal in bed at one in the morning, and watching TV naked at five am, too early to be morning and too late to be last night. Jensen buys the complete works of Kant and reads five pages a day. Jared finds himself calling Jensen when he's spent four hours in a CD store, wanting to warn him that he's coming back to the apartment (they're at Jensen's that night) a little later than he'd thought. _Someone_ doesn't sort the laundry, and their collected underwear turns pink. Jared refuses to help Jensen clean out the crisper bin, and Jensen's threatened sexual embargo lasts exactly as long as it takes Jared to push him up against the refrigerator and start licking the backs of his teeth.

When it's over, they don't even bitch too much, mostly because they don't mind. They're both practical, levelheaded guys, and their jobs? Are fucking awesome; not least because they get to hang out together all day long and get paid for it.

Now work has the added benefit of lunchtime blowjobs, and Jensen's way less pissy than last season because now Jared can actually talk him into going to bed and then, uh, persuade him to sleep. It's a damn sweet arrangement.

So it's a shock to find himself in the bathroom in his apartment, with Jensen on the other side of the door, shouting at him. His hands are pressed against the glass of the mirror and he watches the foggy marks fade as he steps back. He's so angry he's shaking. He pulls his towel off the back of the door and twists it between his fingers, tightening the bunched muscles in his shoulders and back before deliberately, carefully, relaxing them.

The truth was the part that had stung. They'd begun arguing over something stupid, who ate the last of the wheaties, Jensen's freakish ability to hit the snooze button only on mornings when Jared had an early call, who the hell knows. It wasn't any different from any of their usual bickering. But Jensen had snorted at one point and called Jared a cocksucker. Jared had been startled himself at the sick, cold fury that unspooled behind his ribs, but he had been too surprised to do anything but listen to himself in amazement as he shouted, "You made me gay, asshole, so shut up!"

It was a Sunday, the one day a week they were both guaranteed to have off, and Jared had actually woken Jensen up that morning with a slow, lazy, almost casual blowjob.

He hangs the towel back up, flexes his hands, and winces. Then he squares his shoulders and opens the bathroom door; his mama didn't raise a coward, and he's not going to hide from Jensen. Jensen's right there in front of him, and there's no air in the hallway, in the universe.

"You --" he says, and Jensen's turning, walking away, shoulders hunched and the heartbeat glimpse of his eyes shattering the breath in Jared's lungs all over again. If there was time, Jared thinks hysterically, he might freak out this time—somewhere along the line he _fell in love_ with Jensen and _didn't notice_. He's totally entitled, even if just to freak out over what a moron (and an asshole) he is. But he shoves that little revelation away to deal with later, like when Jensen's not walking away from him, and reaches out toward Jen. "You," he says, and clears his throat. "You made me gay. You made me _happy_. Jensen."

"Asshole," Jensen whispers, and it's all right, it's really all right, and Jared thinks he might throw up or start laughing or kiss Jensen until they're both panting.

That last one sounds like the best idea of the three, actually, and that's what he does, heaving Jensen against the wall and sliding down it, taking greedy laps at Jensen's mouth until he makes the most incredible, broken sound in the back of his throat. Jensen's hands are icy cold on the back of his neck and he gasps once, before sinking into the bite of Jensen's fingers twisting in his hair.

They're both too frantic, too hyped-up on rage and fear and stupidity to be careful about it, and Jared manages to last only until his fly is open before just yanking Jensen on top of him and thrusting up against the hem of his t-shirt and the tender skin of his belly. He can't breathe, still, but this time he doesn't mind, because Jensen's pinning him against the floor and biting at his lips and his chin and his throat. Jared tries to work a hand in between them, tries to catch at some part of Jensen, hold onto him and apologize with his body the way he's never going to with his voice, but he can't control himself, just moving mindlessly against Jensen. He draws in a ragged breath, not nearly enough; but it is enough because the air smells like Jensen, that aftershave he wears, and his sweat as he arches his back and shoves at Jared, settling further, deeper, into the embrace of Jared's thighs. It's clumsy and wild and Jared has never come harder in his _life_.

He manages to nudge Jensen, limp as a sleeping cat, to the side a little, so he can breathe again; the world is still wobbly at the edges and he's not sure he can see color anymore. He doesn't care.

In maybe three minutes, he and Jensen are going to be permanently glued together at the hips and his spine hurts like a motherfucker and Jensen's jeans left his thighs scraped and raw, and he doesn't care about that, either. He wants to do that again _right now_.

Over the next few days, it becomes clear that something's broken open between them. Jared stops feeling new and fragile; he hadn't realized how much he'd been waiting for Jensen to walk away from Jared's clumsiness and hesitations until he had. But he's back now, and Jared is never going to be stupid enough to make that happen again. He hopes. He can be really dumb. But the waiting's over, at least, and jesus, it's a relief.

No one really seems to care, when he and Jensen are sloppy—not sloppy, not that, it's just that they don't mind any more. Jensen laughs when Jared mentions it; the next time they're out at a network party, he spends the whole night pretending to be drunk off his ass and hanging off Jared. It's kinda funny for the first half-hour, then Jared wants to smack him like a misbehaving puppy. It's only later, driving home, that he gets it.

Man, when your boyfriend's hobby is showing you how much of a moron you can be, it's time to get with the program, get over yourself, and just go with it. So Jared does.

"So," Jensen says when they're back in his apartment, licking his lower lip, "when you said _fuck off and die, asshole_, tonight, you really meant _please fuck my brains out_, right?"

Jared isn't really paying attention to what Jensen's saying because, one, licking his lower lip, and two, saying _fuck my brains out_ are much more important things to pay attention to. "Less talking, more blowjobs," he mumbles, dropping his coat on the floor and fastening his mouth to that tendon in Jensen's neck.

It's a pretty stupid thing to say, because Jensen's voice, right now, is rough with alcohol and tight from the cold air outside and _turned on_, and it's making Jared fucking crazy. Jensen pushes him away, one hand staying on his shoulder and the other moving down his chest, the flat of Jensen's palm scraping over Jared's nipples, and then his fingers fitting in between Jared's ribs, sliding over the sheath of muscle there. When he _finally_ rests his knuckles alongside Jared's zipper, Jared whimpers. "Needy little bitch," Jensen says, laughing a little. "You're in no position to give orders."

"Whatever," Jared says, and thrusts up against Jensen's hand. "Do you want me to say please, fucker?"

"I want _you_," Jensen says, and kisses him, messy and fast and careless.

It's the carelessness that gets him, the casualness of it, the way Jensen's sure that Jared will want it, whatever it is, whatever Jensen has for him. The ease of it, the way Jared's hips are canting into the heat of Jensen's hand, the way Jensen's just taking all of the gasps and groans and ragged moans that Jared can't believe he's making, and Jared just gives way and clutches at Jensen, fingers scrabbling against denim and silk.

This is something amazing, something he'd never have guessed he could have had, and Jesus, to think he wouldn't have; he can't remember what it felt like not to have this, not to have Jensen at his side and his back and holding him together from the inside out.

Jensen lets go of him and yanks him upright. He feels cold for the instant before he realizes that Jensen's tugging him toward the bedroom, and God, Jen's a fucking genius, with an amazing ass. He grabs at it, just to check, and Jensen shrieks like a girl.

They've ruined Jensen's green silk shirt, and Jared can't find it in himself to care. Jensen's mouth is on his shoulder, and he's going to have a hickey on his hip and probably his throat, and he can't remember why he should care about that either. Jensen's nuzzling at his skin, licking up the sweat that's collected in the crease of his biceps and in the draped muscles in his shoulders. The aftershocks are still rumbling through him, dust devils occasionally bursting into flames in odd, unexpected places, like his ankles and his shoulder blades.

"Fuck me," he sighs, and Jensen mumbles something. The vibrations make his skin tremble, and suddenly he's shivering and he doesn't know why. Jensen feels it, though, and presses himself against Jared's body, fitting himself into the planes and angles and crevices of Jared's body like a coin into a slot, making everything light up and tilt.

Jensen hooks his leg over Jared's thighs. "Hey," he says, softly, tongue just brushing past his lips. He doesn't look up to meet Jared's eyes. "You wigging out on me, dude?"

Just a little, Jared admits inside his own head. Just a little.

"That's the first time you've asked for it," Jensen says a moment later. "You want it that much?" There's no teasing in the way he says it, no levity in his voice, and although his lashes hide his eyes and cast long shadows over his cheekbones, and Jared's glad of it, that he doesn't have to say this with Jensen watching him say it, Jared's sure that he wouldn't see sarcasm there either, and he nods.

"Want _you_," he manages to say, manages to choke past the silence that he's inhaled over the last thirty years. Jensen laughs, startled, probably, at how weird his voice sounds.

"It's me," he says, lifting his head so the light from the hallway stripes his throat and jaw orange and silver. "It's not a big deal, you fuckhead." Jared shakes his head, feeling shakier now that Jensen's looking at him, seeing him, watching him. Jensen can tell, and so he lays his head back down, the weight of his skull fastening Jared to the bed in one more place, locking him down.

He manages to think past the scratchiness of Jensen's five o'clock shadow and the sense-memory of that stubble on the insides of his thighs, manages to ignore the way the hair on his arm is fluttering with Jensen's breath, and say, "That's why."

Jensen bites him, sinks his teeth into Jared's bicep, and Jared yelps. "Fucker!"

"Asshole," Jensen says. "I swear to God."

Jared rolls his eyes. "Hand to heart," he drawls, and Jensen glares, and rolls over, poking his bones into soft places in Jared's torso for an uncomfortably long few moments, before draping himself thoroughly over Jared. He bends his head and brushes his lips over the pale skin in the center of Jared's chest, and then rests his chin there. "Hell on your neck," Jared points out, lifting a hand to curve around the back of Jensen's neck and the base of his skull.

Jensen smiles. "Blowjob's hell on the jaw," he says, and raises an eyebrow. Impossibly, Jared feels himself blushing. He bucks a little, trying to get Jensen off him, feeling indescribably exposed, sprawled out on Jensen's bed, limbs slack and bruise forming at the base of his throat.

It doesn't go as planned. Jared really shouldn't plan, he decides, when Jensen flips them over, pulling Jared on top of him. "You want it," he says, something moving, far back in his eyes, swift and strange, "you take it."

Jared doesn't get it for way longer than he should. He's flopped over Jensen, staring down at him, and he can see the pulse beat in the hollow of Jensen's throat. He's just trying to buy himself a little time when he bends his head to lick at that dip in his collarbone, but the way that Jensen goes soft and passive under him tips him off.

"_Oh_," he breathes, and Jensen shivers as his breath cools the skin he's been licking. Other than that, he doesn't move.

He pushes himself up, just a little, just far enough to see Jensen's eyes and the way the pupils are blown, the shadows beneath his eyes, the stubble gleaming at his jaw, and something swamps his chest abruptly. He's such a fucking moron that sometimes it amazes even him. Seriously, how is it possible that he can walk upright if he's this stupid?

But kissing Jensen would be, no matter how much he wants to—and _god_ he wants to—would be a mistake right now, and while Jared isn't sure how he knows that, he trusts whatever's smarter than him and lives in his brain.

It's not the lube that's strange, he thinks distantly—as he leans over, hoping desperately he doesn't fall flat on his face because that would be bad—it's the inevitability of it. He's been a fan of lube since he was a teenager, but now, every time he wants to get fucked—and he wants it a lot—someone has to find the bottle. He's gotten used to it, and that should be weird, but isn't. Pavlov's dogs have nothin' on him; the snapclicksquish of it always makes something pool and ache low in his belly.

He braces his thighs as he drips it onto his hand, rubbing the pads of his fingers together, heat suffusing his whole body as he reaches behind himself, dragging a fingertip against tender skin. The pleasure's both expected and unexpected—this whole thing has been throwing him for a loop since it started, so it's kind of a relief to know that some things never change. It's the inevitable sequel to the lube's being opened and something he's never done before, and almost confusing, the doubled sensation new and overwhelming.

He's not really sure he likes it.

He knows he doesn't like the prickle on his throat, the way his body is twisted and arching, how the only sound in the room is the wet slide of his fingers in and out of his ass. Except that's not true, he can hear Jensen's breathing, and he licks his lips. Jensen's hands are flat at his sides, and he's pressing his palms hard against the sheet. Jared arches his back a little, bites his lip, doesn't close his eyes, exaggerates the tilt of his hips. Jensen's breath comes that much faster, and it's like something pulls straight through his body, stretching him taut and open all at once. God. What the fuck is he doing?

His wrist is starting to ache, so he settles himself over Jensen's cock, and throws his head back as he slides down. He wants to watch Jensen, he does, but he can't, he can't bear it, he can't take the fire-brightness of Jensen's gaze along with the smoke-twist of sensation in his spine, he can't, there's just no fucking way. When Jensen's all the way in, when Jared's _taken_ him all the way in, he lets out a shaky breath and looks down to where there's sweat collecting along Jensen's hairline and where the light from the window stripes his face the warmest gold Jared has ever seen. But the streetlamps have nothing on Jensen's eyes and the burn far back behind the iris. Jensen is naked in ways that Jared isn't sure he's ever seen.

It's kinda amazing.

His thighs will hate him tomorrow, but right now, all he wants is rhythm and heat and air scraping at the inside of his throat. Yeah, this is good, this is about as good as it gets. And then he flexes muscles he didn't even really know he had before all this started, and Jensen's whole body shudders. When Jared begins to move, Jensen makes a noise that Jared's pretty sure he's never heard before and would like to hear again, forever and ever, amen, and he keeps moving, and yeah, that noise is even better the second and the third time.

He realizes distantly that he's making noise too, saying things he's not sure he ever said to anyone before, stuff like "oh god, so good," and "christ, Jensen, I, you," and "fuck, this is the way sex ought to be," and then, suddenly, he's gasping "fuck me" over and over again, and that's when the world goes a little weird. Because the noises that Jensen is making change, turn guttural and harsh, almost sobbing, and if Jared weren't fighting his way through some kind of cloud of pleasure that makes breathing something he has to remember to do, and holy fuck is it hard (some small corner of his mind that's still twelve starts snickering over that, saying gleefully, _it's hard 'cause you're so hard, dick_), he'd probably get a hint the second before Jensen thrusts up with his hips.

But he doesn't, and the bolt of white up his spine is more than he can handle. The world goes grey at the edges for a second, and when it clears again, he's lying on his back, legs over Jensen's shoulders, Jensen's icy fingers digging into his biceps, and Jensen has never done this.

He's never just gone for it like this—cords standing out in his neck, teeth clamped into his lip, and Jared forgets, for a moment, anything but the thought that Jensen is doing this to him, and that, even more than the sudden shift in angle so Jensen's fucking into just the right place, is what makes him make a sound like a sob and come. It's almost a surprise, because he wasn't even thinking about it, wasn't even paying attention to the way his body was nothing more than his heartbeat reverberating, the spiky heat burning out his nerves. He'd pushed it away in order to think about Jensen, and him, and the way that's pretty much the same thing right now. He doesn't even close his eyes, because he can't stop watching Jensen fuck him, can't stop opening himself up for Jensen, and so he sees something suffuse Jensen's expression. It's something soft and crushing, and it's the only thing that lasts through his orgasm, enveloping him and burning into him from the outside, just the way Jensen's cock is breaking him apart him the inside. He'd be nothing more than ash floating in air if it weren't for the way that he's sure Jensen will pull him back together and keep him there.

When he fumbles his way back to reality, Jensen's slumped on top of him, their legs still tangled, and yeah, his everything is going to be fucking murder in the morning, but he doesn't think it's going to matter, because he has no more body left—it's gone to a better place, Jared's happy for it, whatever.

Jared lies there, trying to remember how to breathe and how to think anything but _oh yeah_ and _fuck me_ and _god so good_.

"You can ask for whatever you want," Jensen says, when Jared's breathing has slowed just enough that he can hear something besides his blood rushing like wind outside a convertible. "Anything. I want you to be happy."

"You make me happy," Jared mumbles, and smiles, although it feels weird, with his face smushed into the side of Jensen's chest. It's true; Jensen makes him happy, and sore, and yeah, everything. Everything. He relaxes into it, feels everything cuddle up against his bones. There's nothing more important than the places where his body is slotted against Jensen's, and there never will be.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Find That Handsome Devil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/487673) by [applegeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/applegeuse/pseuds/applegeuse)




End file.
